


Eleven: Redux

by ebenflo



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), doctor who crossovers - Fandom
Genre: Bedtime, Doctor/Companion Friendship, F/M, Fluff, Matt Smith - Freeform, New Companion, One Shot Collection, TARDIS - Freeform, eleventh doctor - Freeform, shameless mary sue, time travelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebenflo/pseuds/ebenflo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-off romps through time and space with the 11th Doctor: sometimes sweet, sometimes sad. Not always canon-compliant (but after all, time can be rewritten...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Doctor's Shirt

"Doctor?"  
I could hear clattering. In my timeline it was four-thirty, Sunday morning. Or at least, it was very late Saturday night when we left Hemingway to his own devices after battling his personal demons (literally, horns and all). Between the absinthe cocktails and the demon-slaying I'd somehow misplaced all of my things. Which is how I happened to be wandering around the TARDIS in one of the Doctor's shirts. It was two sizes too big on my five foot tall body, the hem clinging to the tops of my thighs. It had a tiny houndstooth pattern and still smelled like gin and gun-powder, making me wonder which adventure he'd most recently worn it on. It also made me wonder whether the TARDIS had a laundry, probably the silliest thought of all.  
"Doctor?"  
He was dangling upside down off the bridge. When he saw me his eyes grew even more comically bug-eyed behind his ridiculous goggles. He called my name and swung upright, yanking the goggles on to his hair and skewing his fringe in five directions. He looked like a very sciencey street-urchin and I snickered softly.  
"Can't you sleep?"  
"The TARDIS is making noises," I murmured, curling up in a lounge chair.  
"The TARDIS always makes noises, it's a TARDIS. You can't just quietly gallivant through time and space it comes with the territory! Sort of like a house. Houses make noises. Which reminds me! There was this time-"  
It was the worst time to make the biggest yawn. It stopped the Doctor in his tracks.  
"You look dead on your feet," he commented dryly, putting down his screw-driver (non-sonic).  
"It was a long day, I kinda looked forward to bed. Until someone decided to go all Better-Homes-And-Gardens and keep the whole household up."  
He grinned, before apparently noticing something. The grin faded.   
"You're in my shirt," he commented. Which would have come across like any of his other very-obvious observations, had it not been for the very slight hitch in his voice, and the curious way he stared at a patch of skin above my knee where Doctor-shirt ended and goose-pimpled-me began.  
I self-consciously tried yanking the shirt down and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind my now very red ear. I was beginning to think this was a bad idea. Maybe I could blame the cocktails. He was a thousand years old! And an alien, not some college-boyfriend! He'd never even looked at me that way before. A flicker of longing. A spark of desire. And something awfully, awfully tempting. Never...until now.  
"It's time to get you to bed," he said in a low voice, slowly pulling the goggles off his head. He held his hand out for mine. "Come on."  
"But how can I get back to sleep now? "  
He chuckled softly and brushed his lips over my forehead.  
"I have a thousand bedtime stories, I'm sure we'll find you one."


	2. The Doctor Goes To School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 11th Doctor takes his companion back to school...with a very magical difference.
> 
> (reposted as part of series rather than standalone)

"You're taking me WHERE?"  
She was sure her eyebrows at catapulted off the top of her forehead but he had just made the most ridiculous claim of where he was taking her next. Admittedly she'd had a few fantasies herself about going there, but didn't everyone who had grown up on those books?  
"They're just books," she blurted out. Of course he had to be joking...right? "It's an imaginary place like...Narnia and Middle-"  
"-Earth, yes, you said. Met the most fascinating Orc there once, spoke Silurian. Fascinating chap, hated fish fingers and insisted I serve the cod raw."  
It was times like he made her head spin. Wicked mischief sparkled in his eyes.  
"Hope you've got your broomstick ready."

*

"No. Freaking. Way."  
"Yes! Every-possible-way." He waved towards the looming castle with a great flourish, unable to contain his excitement. Even in the distance she could see its windows glowing gold in the night, turrets silhouetted by moonlight.  
"No, seriously. This isn't-"  
"-Possible? Responsible? I agree with the latter, absolutely irresponsible, never even swung past Diagon Alley to get you your books, how are you going to pass potions? I mean, you're rubbish at Chemistry."  
"Hey!"  
"...and you're late."  
"For what?"  
"The Feast."

*

"Ah, there you are. Students, please welcome the newest member of our faculty. Professor Song will be taking over the post of Defence Against The Dark Arts." The speaker was an austere-looking woman whose lined face was pulled taut into a stern expression.  
She turned to cast him a questioning look.  
"Professor Song?"  
"She'd love the idea of it," he whispered back, his voice filled with great affection. "Can you imagine?"  
Polite applause filled the hall as they walked towards the long table at the front. He suddenly turned and pointed her in the direction of a table decked in black and yellow.  
"Oh no, you're not faculty. You sit there, see, with the other Hufflepuffs."  
She was outraged.  
"You put me in HUFFLEPUFF?"  
"Quickly now, the feast will be starting," he chided, patting her lightly on the head like a small child.  
"This is ridiculous!" she argued. "I am twenty-six I can't-"  
"Mature age student," he explained, waving his hands in a ridiculous fashion. "Your owl was late."  
She could sense the curious stares burning holes in her back and hear the twitters of barely disguised giggles primarily coming from the silver and green table at the back of the hall. She fought the urge to stamp her foot.  
"You're awful! And you are so paying for this later."  
"I look forward to it," he said. If she had ever thought him the flirting kind she could have sworn there was the faintest purr to his voice.

*

"Have you seen the new Professor around? What a dreamboat, I wish he would give me detention, I'd so be up for that."  
"What's that little thing he carries? Not a wand I suppose. Calls it his 'sonic screwdriver'." More giggling ensued.  
She rolled her eyes, her footsteps falling a little harder as she stormed past the swooning fourth-years. Little brats! They didn't have the faintest who he was, really, did they. They knew nothing of the adventures through space or the things she had seen. To them she was a curiosity. And he was...a dreamboat. As if his head wasn't big enough already. She shuddered.

She still had no idea how any of this was even possible. Everything was so real, so vibrant; from the deep waters of the lake to the ominous fringes of the Forbidden Forest. And she had never imagined sitting on a broomstick would be so bloody difficult! Subconsciously she patted her sore rear end as she stood outside the entrance to his quarters, waiting for him to let her in. He'd given her the password but of course it was in Parseltongue. Easy when you had a time machine to translate everything for you, harder when you had to stand awkwardly in a hallway hissing at a bemused portrait of a portly old professor with angry eyebrows and a craggy face. She rolled her eyes.  
"Oi you, open up," she called, tapping her foot impatiently. She could hear the distant screeching of night owls and the solemn chiming of a grandfather clock. "Seriously, I've toasted half my brows off in Potions, been bitten in Magical Creatures and I swear to Merlin the first-years have hidden a toad in my bed."  
"Want to sleep over then?" he flung open the door with usual vigour, apparently not noticing the deep flush across her cheeks prompted by his innocent question. He was wearing some sort of eccentric night-cap with a long hood and three pom-poms stuck on the end, and a monocle was perched on his nose.  
"Where the hell did you get that hat?"  
"Pomona Willoughby, fourth year Slytherin. One of my many admirers, do you like it?"  
"It's ridiculous."  
"Jealous?" he asked smugly.  
"You wish."  
"Come in, you're letting out all the warm air."  
It was only then that she noticed the roaring fire in his sitting room and the inviting smell of something warm and comforting, like custard powder and old books. She could have sworn she knew what the combination was. It was so familiar, so...  
"I'm making a potion," he clarified, his voice brighty and airy. "Potions are cool."  
"Umm, is this..."  
"Amortentia. To me it smells like figs and early-morning dew." Her heart fluttered like a caged bird. "What does it smell like to you?"  
She blushed and the Doctor clapped his hands together.  
"You're turning red, what are you keeping from me?"  
"Nothing," she lied. The vanillary smell of the amortentia intensified. "Nothing at all."


End file.
